


You Spin Me Right Round (Baby)

by Kyele



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cheerleaders, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, oblivious dorks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/pseuds/Kyele
Summary: "No, Gideon," Eobard sighs, closing his locker with a bang. "It's no use. Barry Allen could have anyone in this school. He’s never going to look at me.""And I can't stop lookingat him," Barry groans, burying his face in his pillow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/gifts).



> So once upon a time (not that long ago) Coco drew [Barry in a Supergirl-inspired uniform](https://here-comes-all-the-cotton-candy.tumblr.com/post/159733464993/in-which-barry-and-karas-costumes-are-just-a). I thought it looked like a cheerleader outfit. Sensing opportunity, Coco drew [Barry as a cheerleader](https://here-comes-all-the-cotton-candy.tumblr.com/post/159756098593/there-goes-all-the-cotton-candy-in-the-high). [Repeatedly](https://here-comes-all-the-cotton-candy.tumblr.com/post/159996713033/why-wont-this-high-school-au-let-me-live-oh-my). So I wrote this. Because art like that deserves a reward :) I'm not sure what this is going to be, but I like it, and I hope you will too!

“There he is,” Eobard sighs, dreamy.

Gideon flicks a glance over her shoulder. “Who?”

“Don’t look! He’ll see you!” Eobard buries himself in his locker, shuffling textbooks as if his midterm grades depend on whether _Algebra 2 with Trigonometry_ goes on the left or the right of _German, Year Three._

“ _Who_?” Gideon leans against the bank of lockers next to Eobard’s, frowning at the crowd. Then her eyes shoot up. “Barry Allen?”

“He’ll _hear_ you!”

“So at least two of his senses are in working order. You’ve chosen your high school crush well.”

“Oh my God, Gideon, will you _shut up._ ”

“You can come out now. He’s gone.”

Eobard withdraws slowly from his locker, glancing around to confirm. He just catches a glimpse of Barry’s backpack – red, Jansport, canvas bottom, initials _BHA_ – disappearing around the corner to the cafeteria, and exhales in relief.

“When are you going to ask him out?” Gideon asks.

“Ask him – I’m not going to ask him out!”

Gideon’s dark eyes meet Eobard’s levelly. “Why on earth not?”

Eobard stares at Gideon. “Are we talking about the same person?”

“Barry Allen?”

“ _Barry Allen,_ ” Eobard repeats, stressing the syllables. “Student council president? Head of the cheerleading squad? Probably going to be valedictorian next year, when he’s a senior? Definitely going to be voted _most likely to succeed_? Universally beloved?”

“Barry Allen, human being?

“Barry Allen, _literal ray of sunshine,_ ” Eobard hisses.

Gideon smacks him.

Eobard yelps. “What was that for?”

“Using the word ‘literally’ to mean ‘figuratively’. You know the rules.”

Eobard sighs. “He’s _Barry_ ,” he says plaintively. “He loans everyone lunch money and doesn’t ask for it back. He found there was bullying once and _talked nicely to the bully_ until they changed their ways. He tutors half of his classes in his spare time. He fought the administration on shortening our lunch periods and _won_! He is the heart and soul of his entire school, and I am the lowly transfer student who gazes upon him from afar, never to rise to the level of his attention.”

“I’m considering a revision to the rules,” Gideon says calmly. “It goes something like ‘when you get melodramatic, I smack you’. Then you ask Barry out.”

"No, Gideon," Eobard sighs, closing his locker with a bang. "It's no use. Barry Allen could have anyone in this school. He’s never going to look at me."

* * *

"And I can't stop _looking_ at him," Barry groans, burying his face in his pillow.

Iris makes a tutting noise from where she’s enthroned in the beanbag chair in Barry’s room. "Eobard Thawne?"

"Who else?" Barry gives up on smothering himself and rolls onto his back, staring morosely at his ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars his mom had helped him hang when he was eight fail, for once, to lift his mood.

"Like, you try to look at something else, but your eyes keep going back to him?" Iris gives a low whistle. "You've got it bad."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay." Iris' face appears in Barry's line of vision; the bed dips to his right, where her knees dig in to the mattress. "You could have any guy you want."

"Hah."

"Barry, are you or are you not the most popular, beloved, sought-after kid at your school?"

"I won a student council election," Barry says. "That's not the same thing."

"You won with eighty-five percent of the vote!"

"I was unopposed! My competition was entirely made up of write-in candidates! And Mickey Mouse still got six percent of the vote."

"You were unopposed because everyone knew you would win. And someone always writes in Mickey Mouse. He gets half a percent of the vote for president, for God's sake. You can't compare yourself to a fictional cartoon."

"Watch me," Barry says mournfully.

" _Barry._ " Iris doesn't shake him, but she does shake the bed, which has a similar effect. "Just tell the guy you're into him! He'll probably be thrilled!" She pauses. "Unless he's straight. Is he straight?"

"Probably," Barry groans. "That would befit my tragic fate."

Iris laughs. Barry gives her a reproachful look, and she just laughs harder.

"I could have a tragic fate," Barry says. He can feel the corners of his mouth starting to twitch, though.

"Not in this lifetime," Iris disagrees. "Anyone trying to mess with you will be spontaneously taken up to Heaven to be scolded by an angel."

"Is that what they teach you in Catholic school?"

"Nah, they teach me that my body is sinful and I'm going to hell if I read novels. I don't listen much for those bits."

"It's almost hard to understand why your grades are so mediocre."

“Hey, hang on, you’re changing the subject.” Iris sits back on her heels and almost slides off the bed. “Sheesh.” She gets herself resettled, this time sitting halfway down Barry’s bed – Barry scoots over to make room – and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s still wearing her school uniform, having come over right from school for what is ostensibly a study session, and the blouse bunches up awkwardly. “Barry, we went to school together in middle school, and everyone loved you! I’m having a really hard time believing that anything has changed. What’s the problem?”

“Eobard didn’t _go_ to middle school with us, Iris, he’s a _transfer student_ – ”

“Which renders him incapable of liking you?”

“He used to go to some super magnet school in his old city. He’s only here at Central High because he transferred midyear and there were no spots left outside of public! As soon as the year ends he’s probably going to switch over to private or start taking classes at the community college or something. Did you know he was a mathlete? And does Model UN? _And_ he’s joined the debate team, and they say he can convince anyone to do anything?” Barry’s voice fades into wistful sighs.

Iris doesn’t seem quite so swept up in the mystique. She frowns. “I thought you said he was on the track team.”

“He _is_.” The image of Eobard in running shorts flashes before Barry’s eyes, and he groans. “He joined after coming to Central. He’s already one of the best runners. He’s so talented, Iris. Brilliant _and_ sporty?”

“You’re brilliant and sporty too,” Iris says. “And if you try to say cheerleading isn’t a sport, I’ll smother you with a pom-pom.”

Barry, wisely, does not attempt to say this. Iris had only been resigned to attending Sacred Heart for high school by the fact that their cheerleading squad is nationally ranked. As much as Barry and his team have done at Central High, they’re only good on a local, maybe regional level.

“Regardless,” Barry says instead. “Eobard’s so far out of my league he’s practically in orbit. I will never catch his attention, and may as well resign myself now to my life of hoarding cats and working at soup kitchens.”

“At least you’ll be doing some good in the world,” Iris says unsympathetically. “And if you can help me with this English paper you’ll be doing even more good. Come on, I taught you the periodic table, the least you can do is explain Dostoevsky to me.”

“It’s about the futility and nothingness of endeavor and the fundamental unimportance of any individual man.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Iris says, sliding off the bed and reaching for her schoolbag to fish out her laptop. “Keep going. So when he has that dream about the mare, what’s that mean?”

* * *

At the beginning of the school year, when Barry had gotten his schedule and seen that he’d drawn first period lab – which, given his course load, means Chemistry on A days and Biology on B days – he’d been dismayed. Sure, the days where Barry had overslept and missed half of first period have been safely left behind, but he’s still not at his best in the morning. And since he’s hoping to _major_ in Chemistry, this class is kind of important.

He’s changed his mind somewhat in the month or so since a certain someone had transferred into the Central High district. Spending first period gazing dreamily across the room at the magnificent specimen that is Eobard Thawne turns out to be an amazing way to start the day. It’s even better when A days happen to fall on Tuesdays and Thursdays, aka the days the track team has morning practice, aka the days Eobard runs into class just before the bell, hair still wet from the team showers, button-down shirt still slung over his arm, sleeveless undershirt doing nothing to hide the incredible definition of Eobard’s arms. Barry has a thing for Eobard’s arms. And for the way water, clinging to his lashes, sparkles in the harsh overhead lighting of the Chem lab. And for the unruly wave of his hair after it air-dries, at least until Eobard runs his hands through it enough times to restore some kind of order to it. Which Barry also loves. He wants to run his hands through that hair, too. He wants Eobard to run his hands through Barry’s hair. He wants –

“Mr. Allen?”

Barry jerks upright, out of his love-drunk stupor. “Yes?”

Mrs. Bauer is peering at his solution, sitting inert and unattended-to over the magnetic stirrer. “I don’t believe you’ve added the hydrogen peroxide yet, Mr. Allen,” she says mildly.

Barry flushes. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Bauer, I was just… uh, the vitex starch…”

Mrs. Bauer shifts her gaze so that she’s peering at Barry. Her green-rimmed spectacles shift an inch as she looks down her nose. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Barry nods again, looking as apologetic as he possibly can.

“Hmm,” she says, gliding over to the next table. To its occupant: “Well done, Mr. Rathaway.”

Barry wilts. He reaches for the vitex starch and _does not look_ at Eobard Thawne while he measures it out.

“Want to switch seats?” Cisco Ramon offers from across the lab table. “You face _away_ from your crush, and I get to gaze at mine.”

“It’s so nice that you and Hartley are getting together,” Barry says brightly, dodging the question. “So many people don’t see past Hartley’s prickly demeanor.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about getting together,” Cisco says hastily. “I just… like… looking. At the guy. And listening. He’s smart.”

“So are you! You’ll be a great couple.”

“Mr. Allen!” Mrs. Bauer calls. “How’s that vitex starch coming?”

Cisco winces. “Better pay attention,” he advises, turning back to his own solution.

“Yeah,” Barry agrees. And he does. He definitely doesn’t send any more glances Eobard’s way the rest of the period.

Definitely not.

 _I am so screwed,_ Barry thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Eobard picks up a lunch tray. Then, because he is a gentleman, he hands it to Gideon and waves her ahead, picking up a second tray for himself.

“Don’t think this is going to get me to forget your fundamental spinelessness,” Gideon says. Nevertheless, she sails into her rightful place before him in the cafeteria line. The chimes in Gideon’s hair – dreads, as of earlier this week – clink gently as she spins, the better to scold him. “You still haven’t talked to wonderboy?”

Eobard puts his tray on the metal sliders. “I’ve had a brilliant idea,” he says. “You’re not scared of him, so you should talk to him. Then maybe I’ll work up to it.”

“Hmm. No.” Gideon considers the options in front of her. “Taco salad today, I think,” she says aloud, reaching for one of the prepared plates.

“Well, then, stop nagging me.” Upon mature consideration, Eobard goes for the taco salad too.

“You need to stop thinking about Barry like he’s this unattainable unicorn,” Gideon says, sliding her tray down towards the drinks and desserts.

Eobard’s mind skips a beat. He blinks and finds himself staring vacantly at the rows and rows of milk boxes, caught by the thought of how very much he wants Barry to have nothing at all to do with virginity. What would he do if Barry’s a virgin? He couldn’t handle that. He’d mess it up for sure. Oh, God, please let Barry have some sexual experience. Please.

He’s so busy freaking out that he’s also missed part of what Gideon’s saying, which is never a good thing. “What?” Eobard asks her, trying to cover his confusion by taking two boxes of two percent.

“You need to see Barry as human,” Gideon repeats. “Hold one.”

Eobard turns to look at Gideon, but she’s already moving forward purposefully. She dodges a pair of freshman trying to pick the largest chocolate chip cookies out of the case, and Eobard foolishly thinks she’s just going to line up at the cashier’s to pay. But Gideon goes past the cashier’s line, over to the other food station, the one serving rice and veggies and some kind of kabob thing.

“Oh no!” she says loudly, and dumps her tray all over the front of –

“Are you okay?” Barry Allen asks, reaching out to steady Gideon.

“I tripped,” Gideon says serenely. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry – your shirt!” She waves her hands at Barry’s shirt, which is slathered with taco salad.

Barry looks down at the front of him. “Oh, don’t worry about it!” he says. “I have another one in my gym locker, I’ll just go change.”

“Not before you eat!” Gideon protests. “And I owe you lunch, too.” Eobard glances down; Barry must have dropped his own tray in the confusion, because rice and veggies and unidentifiable meat are scattered around them, blending awkwardly with the taco leavings.

“That’s okay,” Barry tries to say.

“No, I insist!” Gideon turns around, and Eobard has a split-second to see what’s coming without a single chance to do anything about it. “Eobard! Come help me! Barry, do you know my friend Eobard? He’s new this year. Just transferred in from Gotham.”

Eobard feels a sensation that he knows to be sheer, utter terror. He’s saved by something he’s never thought much of before: manners. “Hi,” he hears himself saying. Feels his feet moving himself forward.

“Eobard, can you help me get a new tray for Barry?” Gideon asks sweetly. “He’s got enough to do with his shirt.”

Barry is doing an odd thing. He keeps looking at Eobard, then looking away suddenly and studying the admittedly fascinating patterns left by the spilled food.

“You can both go back through,” a voice behind them says. One of the custodians has appeared; leaning past Barry, he plunks a big yellow CAUTION cone right down in the middle of the mess. “Just step back and go around. I’ll deal with this. And you might want to change your shirt, young man.”

“It’s probably getting stained right now,” Gideon says. “You should take it off and soak it in the bathroom before it gets any worse. In fact, Eobard, why don’t you help with that? I’ll get new trays for us both.”

Eobard’s brain skips another beat. This time, when he blinks back to reality, it’s to see Barry taking a hasty step back.

“Really, that’s fine,” Barry says. “I’ll just, uh, I’ll rinse it out in the cheer showers. Which I have access to! Because I’m on the cheerleading team. Uh, you knew that. Well! I’ll just go… do that. Then.”

“But what about your lunch?” Gideon asks him.

Barry is looking anywhere but at the two of them. “I’m not really that hungry today anyway,” he tells a passing student, who looks at Barry with some confusion. “I’ll just go. Get a new shirt. And don’t worry about my lunch. It, uh, it was really my fault. I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Barry – ” Gideon starts.

“Barry,” Eobard says, hoping to apologize.

Too late in either case. Barry’s fled.

* * *

“That could have gone better,” Gideon says a few minutes later, putting her new tray down on the lunch table next to Eobard’s, “but all things considered I think it worked out pretty okay.”

Eobard stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. He considers the bite of taco salad, then puts his fork down again and turns to give Gideon a level stare. “Please don’t ever do anything like that again,” he says, without any hope whatsoever that she’ll abide by this request.

Gideon seats herself neatly and doesn’t even look at Eobard as she opens her milk carton. “Getting Barry to take off his shirt in the middle of the cafeteria was always a stretch goal, Eobard. Don’t be disappointed. The real point was for you to see Barry as a human being. Well? Does he feel more approachable to you now that you’ve seen him drenched in salsa and sour cream?”

“He feels like I can never speak to him again until I prostrate myself at his feet in apology,” Eobard says.

“That sounds like a step back.”

“Oh, you think?”

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” Gideon says patiently. _Now_ she’s looking at Eobard, and her dark eyes are pinning him to his seat like a butterfly to a board. “Didn’t you notice how embarrassed he was?”

“Yeah, well, you had just dumped an entire lunch tray on him!”

Gideon rolls her eyes, dismissing this with a flick of her fingers. “No, idiot, that’s not why Barry was embarrassed. He was embarrassed because I dumped an entire lunch tray on him _while you were watching._ He’s into you!”

“He’s – he is – _what – ”_ Words fail Eobard at this juncture, and he sputters helplessly instead of speaking.

“He’s _into_ you. That wasn’t generic embarrassment. That was _my crush is watching_ embarrassment. It was really sweet, actually. I can kind of see what you see in him. It’s the same thing I see in my Labrador.”

Eobard chokes on air. “Please never compare my crush to a dog again.”

Gideon considers. “Yeah, okay, that’s a fair request. Noted.” She picks up her fork and digs in.

“And also please don’t try to ‘help’ me any more,” Eobard begs.

“So you’re going to talk to him yourself?” Gideon raises an eyebrow pointedly.

Eobard knows when he’s been defeated. “If it keeps you from doing anything else,” Eobard sighs, “then yes. I will.”

* * *

Barry stares at the textbook in front of him and wills himself to focus. He is focusing. He is –

_Accepting a plate of who even knows what, sliding his tray down to get his milk, glancing every five seconds across the lunch line at Eobard Tall-Dark-and-Handsome Thawne, not even_ seeing _Gideon with her tray –_

Seated in the beanbag chair across Barry’s bedroom, Iris taps serenely away at her laptop keyboard, engrossed in homework. Barry’s already told Iris the whole story of the single most embarrassing moment imaginable. Bad enough to have been seen by his crush in that state, covered in lunch food and stammering like an idiot. Even worse to have the whole thing caused by Barry’s own inability to stop looking at Eobard long enough to pay attention to where he’s going. _Worst of all_ to have had to deal with Gideon’s well-meaning attempts to help, all of which had somehow involved prolonging Barry’s embarrassment by having Eobard see more of Barry in that awful state…

_Chemistry,_ Barry tells himself. _Focus. Don’t think about the way Eobard stared at you…_

Barry closes his chemistry book with a snap and looks over to Iris, desperate for a distraction. “What are you up to?”

Iris waves a dismissive hand, not looking up from her laptop. “Nothing.”

Barry frowns. “Are you working on that English paper? I thought you wanted my help with that one.”

“I do! That’s not what I’m working on.” She bends her head further over the laptop. Study mode. Rare, in Iris’ case, and not to be disturbed – not even for best friend gossip about elusive guys.

Barry accepts this and tries to go back to work, but he keeps finding himself distracted – not just by Eobard Thawne, this time, but by the uncharacteristically rapid patter of Iris’ keyboard. “Seriously though – ”

“I’mwritinganarticle,” Iris blurts out.

Barry blinks. Then he puts down his chem book again and says, “Sorry?”

Iris’ cheeks pink. “I’m writing an article.”

“…for English?”

“No, for… well… okay, so I joined the newspaper club.”

Barry boggles. “ _Why_?”

Iris’ blush deepens. “There was this cute guy…”

“Oh my God.”

“Okay, okay, yes, that’s a bad reason for doing something, I’m letting down the sisterhood, blah blah blah.” Iris sets her laptop aside and draws her legs up to her chest, hugging them and looking, astonishingly, shy. “But he’s really nice and special and I just wanted a chance to get to know him.”

“But – _newspaper club?”_ Barry is still stuck on that. “You hate writing! You’ve never written an English essay or Social Studies paper in your life without wailing, moaning, and getting me to look over your shoulder for half of it!”

“I know, but – this is different, somehow!” Now Iris sits up straighter, and the light of passion starts to come into her eyes. “It’s like – I’m bad at making things up, right? And that’s basically what all of that schoolwork is. If you just write down what happened then it’s not _deep_ enough, or some other bullshit about metaphor and synthesis. But reporting _is_ about what happened! That’s the point! You’re not _supposed_ to go off on tangents and give your opinion or start talking up one person and tearing down someone else.”

“Wow,” Barry says, both because this makes perfect sense and because that’s the longest he’s heard Iris go on about something that isn’t cheer in a long time. “You really like this.”

“It turns out writing is easy when I’m just writing down what I know,” Iris says earnestly. “And finding things out was always easy.”

Barry nods, because that much is certainly true. Iris has a gift for sticking her nose into exactly the right spot. It makes her a difficult best friend, sometimes, because Barry’s lifetime record in keeping a secret from Iris clocks in at about three hours, and only because Joe West had unexpectedly come home early that day and they’d had to actually study instead of just gossip over their textbooks. It’s easy to see how that insight would be a great asset for journalism.

Something else occurs to Barry. “Wait, how long have you been doing this?”

Iris suddenly finds the floor very interesting. “About a month?”

“A month?” Barry yelps. His textbook slides off his lap as he comes up from his half-reclined pose, and the sting of hurt feelings makes itself known. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m sorry!” Iris blurts out. “I’m sorry, I meant to tell you right away, but I wasn’t sure it would even work out – I was just trying to get close to Eddie – and I didn’t expect the actual reporting part to be interesting, but then it was, and I got really caught up in it, but I was afraid you wouldn’t understand I was serious, because I never liked writing before in my life. And then it had been a week and I still hadn’t told you and then I started thinking you’d be hurt I hadn’t told you sooner. Which you are. So then I put off telling you and…” she hangs her head. “I’m a terrible best friend.”

“You’re not _terrible_ ,” Barry says automatically. But: “I wouldn’t have made fun of you. You know that, don’t you?” It hurts even worse to think that Iris wouldn’t have known that. Barry tries not to make fun of _anyone_ , and his best friend isn’t going to be an exception.

Iris looks miserable, the earlier light of passion snuffing out. “I’ve never been this interested in anything except cheer,” she says. “Cheer isn’t a career, but this could be. But I’ve only been doing it for a month! What if it all goes wrong? What if people say it’s too soon to think I want to do this for the rest of my life? What if none of my teachers want to write me a recommendation because I hated writing in their classes? What if Dad thinks journalism isn’t a _real_ career?”

Barry had already started climbing off his bed as Iris launches into her litany of woe. Now he squishes onto the beanbag chair next to her to give her a proper hug. “I guess do what you like as long as you like it, and figure out the rest when it happens,” he says. “And I think your Dad will get it.”

“It doesn’t pay that well,” Iris says, muffled where she’s tucked her head against Barry’s shoulder.

“Neither does being a cop,” Barry points out. “If your Dad bitches, ask him if he’s changed his mind about you applying to the police academy.”

That makes Iris laugh. “I was eight when I said that, I think he’ll know I don’t actually want to join anymore.”

Barry shrugs. “A month ago you thought you hated all kinds of writing. Things change.”

“I don’t want to fight.” Iris takes a deep breath. “I’ve got to tell him pretty soon. Class selection for senior year opens in two weeks, and I want to use one of my elective slots for the journalism class.”

“So tell him. It can’t be that bad.”

“Says the guy who refuses to ask Eobard Thawne out.” Then Iris sits up suddenly, pulling out of Barry’s hug enough to clap her hands together. “That reminds me! I have a reason for you to talk to Eobard!”

“What is it?” Barry asks, wary of both the sudden change of conversation and the new topic.

“Eddie! That boy I like, who’s the reason I joined the newspaper club? His last name is Thawne! You can ask Eobard if they’re related!” Iris beams, as if she can’t see a single thing wrong with this plan. “Then we can double date!”

“Double – Iris, I just got done utterly humiliating myself today, how do you think this is going to go? ‘Hey, Eobard, my best friend thinks your maybe-cousin is hot, want to go get Mexican food? Since I know you think of me and salsa together now’.” Barry invests this with as much scorn as he can manage, which, beneath Iris’ reproachful looks, isn’t much. He swallows and steels his spine against the inevitable onslaught of the Reasonable Voice.

“If Eobard thinks less of you because someone accidentally spilled their lunch on you, he’s not worth it,” Iris says, reasonably. “So you can talk to him.”

“I _can’t_.” When Iris frowns, Barry adds, “You don’t want to tell your Dad about the journalism elective, right? It’s the same thing.”

Iris’ frown clears. “Then let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?”

Iris nods. “I tell Dad about journalism, and you talk to Eobard. About anything. I’d like it if you asked him about Eddie for me, but I’ll settle for you holding a conversation.”

“Oh, no, Iris, come on,” Barry says helplessly.

She grins.


	3. Chapter 3

Barry dawdles for three days. Iris doesn’t bug him, because that’s not the kind of friend she is, but she can’t stop talking about journalism during their gossip sessions. It’s like now that Barry knows her secret, it all comes rushing out. And Barry knows that course selection is opening up next week. And he also knows, too, that Iris is a big girl, and that her talking to her father is not _actually_ dependent on Barry talking to his crush. But. But she’s his friend, his best friend, and he wants to help her. And this is the kind of help she’s asked for.

Wednesday afternoon, Barry catches up with Hartley Rathaway by his locker after school. “Hey,” Barry says without preamble. “I have a favor to ask you.”

This is not the best way to approach Hartley. He tenses up immediately and turns to face Barry, crossing his arms over his chest. “Buzz off, Allen. I’m not in the mood for sunny and upbeat right now.”

“I want to switch seats with you in Chem lab tomorrow,” Barry persists. Then, because he is nothing if not desperate: “You’d sit with my table partner. You know. Cisco Ramon?”

Hartley freezes. “Why would I want to sit with _that_ nerd?” he scoffs, unconvincingly.

“Because he’s adorable, and he’s been throwing himself at you since freshman year, and you’d really, really like to date him.”

“He’s a guy! I don’t date guys.”

Barry sighs, genuinely saddened. “That’s your parents talking.”

“Yeah, the ones who are going to pay for my college.” Hartley turns back his locker, yanks out two more textbooks, and slams it closed. “Later, Allen.”

“Hartley, wait! Please!”

“I don’t need a fucking matchmaker.”

“Then what about _being_ a matchmaker?”

Hartley stops. This is an unwise maneuver, because he’s already stepped out into the stream of kids heading from their lockers out to the buses, and he promptly gets clocked by three backpacks and one pissed-off senior.

Barry snags Hartley by the loop of his backpack and helps drag him back to safety. “Sheesh, no need to immolate yourself over it.”

“Seriously,” Hartley agrees, brushing at his coat with an aggrieved look. “All right, spill. What did you mean about being a matchmaker?”

Barry swallows. This is the tough part. _Think of it as a dry run for the main event_ , he tells himself.

“Okay, so you know Eobard Thawne? Who transferred in this year?” Barry begins.

Understanding breaks out over Hartley’s face. “Oh, the guy you’re desperately in love with!” he crows. “Are you finally making a move? You’re almost as helpless as I am when it comes to love.”

Barry slumps back against the nearest locker, mortified. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve known you since grade school. You haven’t mooned this hard since that guest lecture from Harrison Wells in sixth grade.”

Barry’s cheeks heat. “I have a thing for hot older scientists.”

“Mmm.” Hartley grins reminiscently. “Me _too_. Damn.”

They share a moment, then Hartley shakes himself back to reality. “Anyway. If this is all in the service of getting you to open your trap, then yeah, absolutely I’ll switch seats with you. One of us ought to get their man.”

“Thank you,” Barry says sincerely. “And – you know, there are some really good scholarships out there – ”

“Thanks,” Hartley says, sounding as if he means it, “but you really don’t get it. Still, I appreciate it.” He shrugs. “Five more years till I’m twenty-one,” he says with gallows humor. “Lay an extra kiss on your boyfriend for me, and I’ll make it.” He glances at the clock. “Gotta run. Good luck!”

“Thanks!” Barry calls after Hartley’s retreating back. He settles his own backpack more firmly and heads off in the opposite direction towards his own bus. Barry’s sad about Hartley, but excited about Eobard, and still hopeful that when he’s grown he can change the world for the better.

Which reminds him. He needs to start getting his campaign staff together for this year’s student council election. Yeah, Barry will probably be unopposed and win in a landslide, but it’s never too soon to start honing his touch for political machinery.

* * *

Track practice runs late. Track practice _always_ runs late. This is not a big deal when practice is after school, since Eobard can just run straight to catch the bus and take a shower at home. This _is_ a big deal when it’s _morning_ practice, and skipping a shower really is not an option. It wouldn’t be an option even if it were only Eobard who had to put up with his sweaty self for the rest of the day. It is _definitely_ not an option on A days, when the first thing Eobard does after practice is spend an entire double lab period in Chemistry with Barry Allen. If Eobard had his way, Barry would never see him anything less than utterly immaculate. Since Eobard does not order the universe, Barry is occasionally allowed to see Eobard flustered and skidding in just before the bell, but there’s a world of difference between uncombed hair and sweaty pits, and if Eobard has his way, Barry will remain insulated from the latter.

Unless it turns out he’s into that kind of stuff. But Eobard isn’t going to risk it without confirmation.

Practice goes even later than usual this Thursday morning, and Eobard is, consequently, even later getting into class. The last chime of the bell is actually ringing when Eobard’s body breaks the plane of the classroom door. Mrs. Bauer frowns disapprovingly, but the student handbook is clear about what does and does not constitute tardiness, so all she can do is continue frowning as Eobard walks-not-runs to his table and sits down across –

“Barry?” Eobard says blankly. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not paying attention – ” He starts to scramble to his feet again.

“No, no, you’re at the right table!” Barry motions him to sit back down. “I switched with Hartley!”

“You switched with – ”

“Ahem,” Mrs. Bauer says. “If I could have _everyone’s_ attention, please.”

She starts explaining the day’s experiment, during which Eobard finds himself increasingly unable to focus. Barry. Barry is at his table. He’d switched with Hartley. Indeed, there is Hartley, sitting where Barry usually sits, and gazing resolutely forward at Mrs. Bauer. Cisco Ramon, Barry’s former table partner, is showing no such restraint. He appears to be trying to devour Hartley with his eyes alone.

Eobard has restraint. He waits until they’ve been given the all-clear to begin the day’s experiment before he says, “Why are you at my table?”

Barry’s face falls. Eobard immediately kicks himself. “I didn’t mean, I, uh, I like that you’re at my table! I just… why?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Barry says.

Eobard blinks. “And this was how you chose to do it? Do you not know where my locker is?”

“I figured this way you couldn’t run away,” Barry explains, which makes no sense, because there is no universe in which Eobard would run away from Barry. But Eobard nods anyway, because Barry is still speaking. “You see, I kind of made a deal with Iris – she’s my friend – my best friend, actually – since we were kids – most people here know her ‘cause she went to elementary and middle school with us all, but now she goes to Sacred Heart, mostly because her Dad’s kind of uptight, he’s a cop, and he wanted her to go to an all-girls school, and she was kind of mad, actually, but she doesn’t mind so much now because they’ve got a REALLY good cheer program, much better than ours – though I’ve been trying to make ours better! And – well – so – ”

Barry pauses for breath. This is good, because Eobard has honestly been worrying that Barry is going to pass out. It’s also less than good, because it allows Eobard to fully comprehend the meaning of this conversation. This is the _I’ve noticed your crush, and it’s embarrassing me and my perfect girlfriend Iris, who has interests in common with me, like cheerleading, and so please back off_ conversation. Eobard tries his best not to wilt immediately and comprehensively. He’s not sure how well he succeeds.

“So she joined this journalism class,” Barry goes on, and Eobard tries to look attentive, like this interests him, which, on the one hand, it’s words coming out of Barry’s mouth, so yeah; but on the other hand, this is more about Perfect Iris, who Barry obviously likes better than Eobard, so it’s kind of like chewing glass. “And she met someone there with your last name, and she was wondering if you were related? Uh, his first name’s Edward? Edward Thawne?”

Eobard opens his mouth and discovers that yes, he is still capable of speech. “Yeah, that’s my cousin – my cousin Eddie. I’m actually staying with him right now. His family, I mean. My aunt and uncle. His parents.” Eobard ceases talking now.

“Oh!” Barry looks surprised. “Uh, are your parents, um… okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine, they’re just in Japan,” Eobard says. “They didn’t want to drag me out there with them, so I came to stay with my aunt and uncle for a while.”

“Could have been cool,” Barry says. “You could have learned Japanese.”

“They would have had to want me around first,” Eobard says, because fuck it – Barry’s already got Perfect Iris, so it doesn’t really matter if Eobard admits that he’s the kind of brusque, arrogant, contemptuous teenager whose parents would rather be rid of him. Why not? “Anyway, it would have set my academics back unless they could have gotten me into an English-language school, and good luck finding a spot in one of _those_ mid-year. This worked out.”

“I heard you tried to get into private or magnet here,” Barry says tentatively.

Eobard just shrugs.

“Right.” Barry clears his throat. Then he offers Eobard a beautiful smile. “I’m really glad you came here. I’m, um, I’m really glad to know you.”

Eobard wants to clear his own throat, now, but it’s suddenly closed up and he can’t. He tries to smile at Barry instead. It’s nowhere near as good a smile as the radiant one Barry is giving him, but it’s the best he can do.

“And I was wondering,” Barry goes on. “Since you do know Eddie. Since you’re related, I mean. It’s like, the friend of my friend is my friend too, right? So we’re friends now? And maybe we could hang out. There’s a place downtown that makes really good milkshakes. Iris and I like to go there Thursday evenings because that’s when they do the specialty milkshake and that’s her favorite. If you and your cousin aren’t doing anything, maybe you’d like to join us?”

Eobard tries to understand this. At first glance this would seem to be some bizarre invitation to double date, but he’s just gotten done explaining to Barry that he and Eddie are cousins, so, no thank you, even if Eddie were interested in guys, which he’s not. And Barry had said they’d be hanging out as friends. But friends don’t intrude on their friends’ special date night out with Perfect Iris at the special milkshake place that makes her special milkshakes on special Thursdays.

“We wouldn’t want to be in the way,” Eobard temporizes.

“Oh, no, it would be great! We used to go with Iris’ brother Wally all the time before he made travel soccer. Now he’s busy all the time. But we’d love to have you! So you’ll come? Tonight?”

Tonight? Eobard boggles. It _is_ Thursday, isn’t it? He’d managed to forget that. Barry’s presence has a way of making Eobard forget things. Even obvious things, like the day of the week.

And now Barry is giving Eobard a hopeful look. Nothing, not even the prospect of torturing himself by watching Barry and Perfect Iris share their Special Milkshake, can make Eobard resist the hopeful look.

“I’ll come,” Eobard says. “And if Eddie’s free, I’ll bring him too.” Actually, Eobard will bring Eddie even if Eddie _isn’t_ free. Eobard is going to need all the moral support he can get. He’ll just promise to write Eddie’s essay or do his chem homework or whatever it takes to _make_ Eddie free tonight.

“Great!” Barry says happily. “That’s – that’s really fantastic!”

“I hope you’re not referring to the progress of your experiment,” Mrs. Bauer’s voice says from two tables over. “Because it doesn’t look, from here, as if you’ve done anything. But I’m sure when I get there in just a minute I’ll find you two hard at work. Won’t I, gentleman?”

“Ack,” Barry says. There’s a moment when Eobard and Barry just stare at each other in frozen horror. Then Barry’s scrambling for two test tubes and a beaker. “You measure, I’ll titrate,” he says hurriedly. “Come on, we’d better do it joint, we’ll never get it done otherwise.”

“Right,” Eobard agrees fervently, and goes for the lithium chloride.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COCO DREW MORE ART, [LOOK LOOK LOOK](http://there-goes-all-the-cotton-candy.tumblr.com/post/160601399736/here-comes-all-the-cotton-candy-for) aaaaaaaa

Eobard stares at his outfit in the mirror. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem to have the right balance of ‘fuck you Iris West’ and ‘date me instead Barry’ that I’m going for.”

Gideon, seated across the room on Eobard’s bed, yawns. “If you’re trying to get me to reenact a teen movie with you, forget it,” she advises. “You’re being ridiculous. And what did I say about being rude to Iris?”

“You said that she was an incredible woman and that you would hurt me.” Eobard crosses his arms, turns to face Gideon, and scowls. “She’s dating Barry. I get to hate her if I want. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’”

“She’s not dating Barry,” Gideon sighs.

“They have _special milkshakes_ at their _special diner_ every _special Thursday._ ”

“Yes. Which they have done since they were eight years old, Eobard. And they weren’t dating then.”

“According to you, you haven’t spoken to Perfect Iris since she started at Sacred Heart. Which means that they could have started dating and you wouldn’t know.”

Gideon rolls her eyes. “They haven’t.”

“Says you.”

“This is a date,” Gideon says. “Or a pre-date. An audition for a date. So dress accordingly. And stop trying to make me help.”

Eobard looks at his closet. He looks at Gideon. He looks down at himself.

“Ugh,” Gideon says with feeling, but hops off the bed and comes over to help.

* * *

“Eobard! Over here!”

Eobard looks left, towards the voice. A long arm has stuck itself up from the forest of booths to the left of the entrance to the Special Diner. It’s Barry’s. A moment later, as Eobard comes around the corner, Barry himself is visible. As is – Eobard grits his teeth – Perfect Iris.

At least they’re both dressed a little nicely, too. Barry is wearing a red-and-white checked button-down and is smiling widely. Perfect Iris is killing it in a yellow sundress. Eobard, despite wearing a nice green linen button-down himself, immediately feels inadequate. It doesn’t help that Eddie is still in his school uniform, since he’d stayed late for yearbook club.

“Eo?” Eddie nudges him.

Eobard snaps back to himself and heads over, doing his best to smile. “Hi, Barry, uh, Iris?” He makes it a question, although there’s no one else she could be. She even _looks_ perfect. Her skin is flawless, her hair is impressively effortless-seeming, and she’s accessorized. Eobard is doomed.

“Hi!” Barry chirps. “Yeah, this is Iris! Iris, this is Eobard Thawne – and you must know Eddie already?” Now it’s Barry’s turn for his voice to rise inquiringly, and Eobard remembers that Barry, unlike Perfect Iris, doesn’t actually know Eobard’s cousin.

Eobard makes that introduction, and they both slide into the booth seat. Eddie, the traitor, slides in first. Which means that he’s across from Perfect Iris. Leaving Eobard across from Barry. Who is smiling even more widely at Eobard. Almost too widely. Almost as if he’s… nervous.

Nervous?

The appearance of a waitress breaks the moment, and Eobard is interested to note that he isn’t the only one to jump, startled. Perfect Iris startles too. She’s been staring at _Eddie_.

Huh.

“What’ll it be?” the waitress is asking comfortably, immune to the swirling byplay of teenage emotion. “Four special milkshakes?”

“We’ll have the special,” Iris says, gesturing to herself and Barry in a way that makes Eobard’s heart sink back down to its usual place. “Eddie, will you try it? It’s different every week, but it’s always good.”

“This week’s has peanut butter in it,” the waitress warns. “If you’re allergic, order off the regular menu.”

“Oh, no, I’m not,” Eddie says quickly. He’s looking at Iris more than he is at anything else. “If Iris says it’s good, I’ll have that.”

The smile Eddie’s giving Iris would make Eobard uncomfortable, if _he_ were dating her. Barry doesn’t seem bothered. He’s focused on Eobard. “What about you?” he asks Eobard.

“Sure,” Eobard says without thinking.

“Four specials.” The waitress tucks her pad away and gives Barry a wink before she walks off.

“So!” Iris speaks before anyone else can restart the awkward staring. “Eddie! You’re in yearbook club on top of newspaper? I had no idea! Is it fun?”

Eddie, who Eobard knows adores yearbook club with an unholy passion, stutters. “O-oh, you know, it’s… uh, it passes the time.”

Eobard stares. “It _passes the time_? Eddie _loves_ yearbook,” he informs Perfect Iris, who might as well know that Thawnes are, in fact, worth something.

This backfires when Iris smiles at Eobard sunnily. As if she is not even aware that Eobard might silently be wishing her dead or, at least, chronically ill. Though maybe she could be only temporarily ill if she agreed to move out of state. In fact, now that Eobard thinks about it, they could construct a function based on distance to determine the necessary degree of illness –

“Eobard?” Barry is looking at him in some concern.

Eobard blinks. “Yes?”

“I was asking what Model UN is like? I was thinking of maybe trying out for it next year. If it does tryouts. Does it do tryouts?”

“Oh,” Eobard says in surprise. Barry wants Eobard to talk to him about one of his hobbies? A quick glance sideways shows that Eddie and Iris have become absorbed in the topic of yearbook club. Probably Barry is just making small talk.

But Eobard loves talking – probably more than he should – and he loves the look of interest Barry is wearing, even if it is more polite than genuine. So he tells Barry about Model UN. He tells Barry about joining it, and about the conventions, and the rules, and the topics for discussion, barely noticing that their milkshakes have come and been drunk while their table has remained divided into two pairs of people talking about totally different things.

Eobard realizes it when Barry laughs at the same time Iris does, but for an unrelated reason. Barry’s laughing at Eobard’s story of the time their conference hotel had been simultaneously booked for an anime convention, leading to the incongruous mixing of serious-faced high schoolers in sober suits and exuberant otaku in brightly-dressed costumes. Iris is laughing at something else – something Eddie has said. And she’s looking at Eddie with a look that Eobard knows when he sees it. A besotted look. It makes Eobard wince a little, and glance at Barry half-fearfully, wondering what his reaction is going to be.

Barry doesn’t seem upset, though. He just grins at Iris, who grins back, and then the two of them laugh at something neither of the Thawnes quite get, judging by Eddie’s sudden awkwardness. They’re happy, at least. But Eobard can’t make out what’s going on. Isn’t Barry upset that Iris is basically spending all her time and attention on some other guy? Is Barry _that_ secure in his relationship?

Or are Barry and Iris maybe… not dating at all?

Eobard’s reverie is interrupted when the check appears. “My turn this week for us,” Iris says, pulling out her credit card. Then she turns to the Thawnes – really, to Eddie – and a hint of pink appears on her perfect cheeks. “May I treat you?”

Eobard swallows. He’s aware that the English _you_ can be plural as well as singular, but he can’t shake the feeling that, although including Eobard in her offer, Iris is mostly speaking to Eddie himself.

And Eddie knows it too, if the way he reddens in reply is any indication. Eobard looks at their matching-not-matching blushes and thinks that, if his cousin has his heart set on Perfect Iris, what does that mean for Barry? And what might that mean for Eobard?

“Only if you let me treat you next time,” Eddie says, surprisingly serious, meeting Iris’ gaze head-on.

Iris leans forward slightly. “Does that mean there will _be_ a next time?”

“That’s up to you.”

Eobard feels very much like an outsider, watching them. He glances at Barry to find Barry looking back at him. At least Eobard’s not alone, here on the outside. Barry is on the outside with him. And Barry doesn’t seem at all upset. Though maybe a little… wistful.

Iris puts her credit card down on top of the receipt. “How’s that for an answer?” she asks.

Eddie grins. “Good enough for me.”

And Eobard thinks, watching the way Barry is still watching him, that maybe, just maybe, it can be good enough for him, too.

* * *

Two days later, on Saturday night, Eddie knocks on the door to Eobard’s room. “Uh, Eo? Got a sec?”

Eobard looks up from his laptop. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Eddie comes in and sits on the edge of Eobard’s bed. He is attempting to look casual, which makes Eobard’s eyebrows rise. “What do you think of Iris?”

This is a more fraught question than Eddie probably realizes. Eobard has spent the last two days going back and forth on this exact question, as well as a number of related questions to do with Barry, Barry’s potential relationship with Iris, Iris’ potential relationship with Eddie, and Barry’s potential relationship with Eobard. These complex thoughts will require care in explaining, but Eobard is confident that his elocution is up to the task, thanks to his extensive background in parliamentary debate, Model UN, and other sources of training.

“I nicknamed her Perfect Iris in my head,” Eobard hears himself say.

Eddie’s eyes get wide. “Wait, oh my God, do you like her?” he squeaks.

“No!”

Eddie gives a huge sigh of relief. “Okay. Great. Um, so you don’t mind if I try to date her?”

Eobard’s stomach swoops and his heart leaps. “Is she available for dating?” he asks, in what he desperately hopes is a casual tone.

“As far as I know,” Eddie says, which is not, by itself, very reassuring – there are many things Eddie probably doesn’t know – but then Eddie goes on. “And, uh, what do you think of Barry?”

Now Eobard’s confused. “I thought you wanted to date Iris!”

“I do!” Eddie holds up his hands, as if to ward Eobard off, which is how Eobard realizes he’s sat forward and might possibly be giving off the impression that he’s about to lunge. “It’s just, um, Iris mentioned that Barry is single? And gay? And, you know, maybe a little bit… into you?”

Eobard sits back against his headboard. “Into… me?”

Eddie half-grins, like he kinda can’t believe it either. “That’s what I hear.”

“Into _me_ ,” Eobard repeats in dawning glee.

“Okay, so that seems to be a go,” Eddie says, nodding to himself. “Great. You can do the rest, right? Because I think I’m going to need all my charm for myself.” He starts to smile. “Perfect Iris. Yeah. I think so too.”

“Barry Allen is into me,” Eobard tells Eddie seriously, as if Eddie might somehow have forgotten in the last few seconds.

Eddie laughs. “Great. I’m going to go do my homework. By which I mean ‘stare at my textbooks and try not to think of Iris’. Good luck doing the same!” He bounces to his feet. “Let me know how it turns out!”

Eobard waves at Eddie’s departing form, foolishly. Then he takes his cell phone out of his pocket, opens his messaging app, and selects his ongoing chat with Gideon.

 _Barry Allen is into me_ , he types proudly, and hits send with a flourish.

He only has to wait a moment for a response. _About time,_ Gideon replies. _Operation Ask Out Crush commences on Monday. Let’s go get your boy._


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay,” Gideon says, joining Eobard at the lunch table on Monday. “We need to strategize.”

“Unfortunately, our chemistry teacher made everyone go back to their original tables this morning, so I didn’t have a chance to ask Barry out first period,” Eobard reports. “I think my next best chance is to try and get a bathroom pass sixth period. That’s when Barry has study hall and he’s usually in the library, so I can duck in and ask him out then.”

Gideon gives Eobard a pitying look. “Okay, let’s try to set our sights a _little_ bit higher. Your boy deserves some romance.”

“I’m romantic,” Eobard protests.

“No you’re not.” Gideon stops and considers this. “Actually, yes, you are, but you seem to think the world will end if you _show_ it, so you suppress all your romantic instincts. Let’s let them out to play. Tell me this – what are Barry’s interests?”

“Science,” Eobard says promptly. “Uh, reading. Cheer.”

Gideon frowns for a moment – the kind of frown that means she’s thinking, not that she’s annoyed – and then snaps her fingers. “Back in sixth grade, there was this famous scientist who came to visit the school. Harrison something.”

“Harrison Ford?”

“I wish,” Gideon sighs, momentarily distracted. “Harrison – Wells, that was it. I’m told he was brilliant. He was definitely hot. Half the school had a crush, including your Barry.”

“I’m not seeing how this helps me ask Barry out,” Eobard says, uncomfortable.

“Get him the man’s biography.”

“So Barry can moon over someone who isn’t me?” Eobard is frowning now, and he’s definitely doing it in the way where he’s annoyed.

Gideon rolls her eyes. “Have you ever seen a picture of Harrison Wells? He looks the way _you’re_ gonna look in twenty years.” She considers. “Maybe thirty years.”

Eobard boggles.

“You don’t believe me?” Gideon pulls out her phone and taps at it, then spins it across the table to Eobard. “Look for yourself.”

Eobard picks up Gideon’s phone and stares at the image displayed there. “Okay, that’s… uncanny.”

“Right?” Gideon picks her fork back up and finally takes a bite of her lunch. “Mmm, the chicken’s not half bad today.”

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Eobard decides, putting Gideon’s phone back down. “I need another plan.”

“What else does Barry like?”

“Cheer?”

“You said that already. And I don’t see how you can use that to your advantage.”

“Okay, let me think.”

There’s silence for a few minutes. Gideon enjoys her chicken. Eobard’s burger gets cold.

“I’ve got nothing,” Eobard says at last. “Can’t you think of something? You’ve known him longer than I have.”

“That’s it!” Gideon says. She shoves another bite in her mouth, then picks her phone back up. “Yeah, I’ve known him longer than you have – and _Iris_ has known him longer than _I_ have. I’ll ask Iris.”

Eobard opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’s still not entirely sure how he feels about Perfect Iris. But as long as she’s dating his cousin – and telling Eddie that Barry is into Eobard – he guesses asking for her advice is okay.

Message sent, Gideon goes back to her meal. Eobard picks at his, surprisingly unenthusiastic. He has practice this afternoon, so he needs the protein, but he’s too nervous to eat.

Eobard breaks over dessert. “Can’t I just ask him out during study hall?” he begs Gideon.

“Sure, if you want to date for a few months and then break up over the summer,” Gideon tosses off. “Trust me, Eobard. Barry needs romance. He needs sweeping gestures. He needs – ”

Her phone buzzes. Eobard sits bolt upright. “Is that Iris? What did she say?”

Gideon takes her time picking up her phone. “Just let Barry see your impatience, and he’ll never doubt your feelings.”

“Gideon – ”

“Iris says Barry’s favorite band is coming to town. Barry really wanted tickets, but they were super expensive and he felt like he couldn’t justify it.”

“For once in my life, I’m grateful to have parents who make a shitton of money, don’t care about me, and try to use the former to compensate for the latter,” Eobard says ruefully, pulling out his phone. “Ticketmaster?”

“I’ll text you the details,” Gideon says, fingers already flying.

* * *

Eobard had expected to have to wait until at least tomorrow to offer Barry the tickets and ask him out, but he’d underestimated Gideon. She meets up with Eobard by prearrangement during Eobard’s seventh period study hall – Gideon doesn’t explain how she’s gotten out of Spanish, and Eobard doesn’t ask – and Gideon sweet-talks her guidance counselor into letting Eobard print out the tickets and giving them an envelope.

“Okay, you know where Barry’s locker is, right?” Gideon says, handing Eobard the envelope.

“I’m not completely hopeless,” Eobard says, with what he hopes is some dignity.

Gideon laughs. “I think you’re right,” she agrees, hearteningly. “Okay. This is the easy part. You just catch him there after school and ask him to go to the concert with you. And if you have any romantic impulses along the way, let them out! Barry will appreciate it.” She grins. “I’ll be loitering innocently nearby. So if you really get stuck – ”

“Thanks, I think,” Eobard says hastily, “but I’ll manage it myself.”

Gideon pats him on the shoulder and sails off back to Spanish class. “I’m sure you will.”

* * *

By the time the final bell rings, Eobard is less than sure, but he’s not backing down now. Any time he begins to falter, he replays Eddie’s words in his mind. _Iris mentioned that Barry is single. And gay. And, you know, maybe a little bit… into you._

The memory gives Eobard courage. He sails forward to Barry’s locker, not even caring that he’s cutting awkwardly through the crowd of students heading for buses and getting as jostled as he deserves.

“Barry!” Eobard calls, as soon as he’s broken through the stream of students and found himself in the small eddy created by the bank of lockers.

Barry, who had clearly just been in the act of opening his locker, drops his backpack. He spins around and smiles his brightest smile. “Eobard! Uh… hi.” His smile turns a little shy. Eobard wants to kiss it. He thinks, giddily, that he might soon have the chance.

In the corner of Eobard’s eye, a shadow shifts. Gideon. Of course. He ignores her, keeping his focus on Barry.

“Hi,” is what Eobard manages to say.

Someone makes a choking noise. Eobard frowns, looking sideways. It’s Barry’s Chemistry lab partner. Ramen? Ramon. Cisco Ramon. Apparently Cisco has a nearby locker as well. He’s looking at the two of them – Eobard and Barry – and making that choking noise.

Eobard glares at him. Then he suddenly remembers some of what Gideon’s been trying to teach him, and says, innocently, “Cisco? Wasn’t Hartley looking for you?”

Ramon stops making the choking noise and looks at Eobard, eyes wide. “He was?”

“He was down by the band room,” Eobard reports. “I think he said something about switching seats permanently in Chem.”

“Oh my God, really?” Ramon looks shocked and thrilled. “Fantastic! Thanks, man!” Ramon slams his locker door shut and takes off, not even glancing back at Barry.

“Did Hartley really say that?” Barry asks.

Like magic, all of Eobard’s attention swings back to Barry. “He’d really like to switch seats,” Eobard says honestly. “He mentioned it to me. When he asked if it were something I’d like too.”

Barry fiddles with the buttons of his letterman jacket, looking down. “What did you say?”

Eobard takes a step closer. “I said that I would really like that, yeah.”

Barry looks up suddenly. “Me three.”

Eobard smiles. Barry smiles, too. Eobard comes a little closer, wondering if now would be a good time for –

“Tickets!” someone hisses. Gideon. Damn it.

“I heard your favorite band was coming to town,” Eobard blurts out. He scrambles in his pocket and pulls out the envelope, somewhat crumpled. “And that you couldn’t get tickets. But I thought. Maybe. Since I, uh, I seem to have some. Tickets. That you’d like to go. With me? That we could go together?” And then, since Barry is blinking at Eobard in what might possibly be confusion, Eobard clarifies: “As a date.”

Barry’s smile gets wider. A _lot_ wider. Eobard waits, breathless, for his answer.

But what Barry says is: “Gideon?”

There’s a pause. Then Gideon steps out from behind a conveniently located pillar. “Yes?”

“Thanks,” Barry says. “Now would you please go catch your bus? And tell Iris to tell my parents I may be about to miss mine?”

“Consider it done,” Gideon says cheerfully.

“Uh,” Eobard says, briefly distracted by watching Gideon’s backpack vanish into the crowd. “Is that a yes?”

“Come here,” Barry invites, beckoning Eobard up closer to the lockers. “I want to spend so long kissing you I miss my bus.”

That sounds great to Eobard. He takes the last few steps forward, tugs Barry up to him by the lapels on his letterman jacket, and finally, finally, _finally_ gets to _kiss_ Barry Allen. Who is looking at him. Eobard. Looking _only_ at Eobard.

Eobard is looking only at Barry, too. The rest of the school goes by, and Eobard will agree, in retrospect, that there had no doubt been some cat-calling and some hooting and a few shouts of ‘get a room’ or ‘about time’ – this being high school, after all – but neither he, nor Barry, actually hear a thing.

(They both miss their buses.)


	6. Epilogue

“I found it!” Barry shouts triumphantly.

Eobard puts down his toast. “Found what?”

Barry emerges from the basement, dust in his hair, panting but smiling widely. “Our high school yearbook! I wanted to take it to the reunion this weekend!”

The book in question is placed on the dining room table with a marked thump. A layer of dust goes everywhere; Eobard wrinkles his nose and puts his hand over his coffee cup. “Why? Didn’t you get enough autographs when we graduated?”

Barry laughs. “I want to do a before-and-after thing! It’s been fifteen years since then – how many of us look remotely the same?”

“You do,” Eobard says appreciatively. He gives his husband a long, lascivious look. Barry is just as tall, just as slender, and even mostly just as muscled as he’d ever been in his high school days. Barry no longer does cheer competitively, but he’s taken up running, and he and Eobard jog together most mornings. Then there’s the parts of Barry that will _never_ change. His spirit. His smile. His eyes.

His lips. Eobard leans forward and kisses them. Then he groans. Barry even _tastes_ of dust.

“Sorry,” Barry says apologetically. He leans around Eobard and, ignoring Eobard’s squawk of dismay, grabs Eobard’s cup and drinks.

“My coffee,” Eobard laments, watching it go.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Barry promises. He leans forward and kisses Eobard again, dust-free now and with coffee on his lips. And as always when Barry kisses him, there’s a moment when Eobard forgets everything but the touch of his husband’s mouth against his, Barry’s hands on Eobard’s shoulders, Eobard’s hands on Barry’s hips.

“Works for me,” Eobard murmurs.

There’s a buzz, and Barry jumps. “Drat, I’m late.” He checks the message. “Gideon says the campaign rally’s been moved up half an hour. I have to run. Dinner tonight?”

“Unless Gideon says you need to do more political events,” Eobard says, mock-reproachfully.

“You’re the one who wanted she and I to be good friends,” Barry says with a grin. He’s brushing the dust out of his hair; Eobard reaches over and straightens Barry’s tie. “It’s not my fault Gideon has a gift for running political campaigns. Besides, fair is fair. _You_ hired Iris to run STAR Labs’ media department. Now I can’t complain to her about the long hours you put in at your job anymore.”

“Startups take a lot of time,” Eobard says with a flash of guilt.

Barry shrugs. “So do political campaigns. Hey, neither of us ever lied to each other about the lives we wanted to lead. But I think it’s working out pretty well.”

“Me too,” Eobard agrees. He holds up a finger. “As long as I get to have dinner with you tonight.”

“Dessert too, if you play your cards right,” Barry murmurs. The look he gives Eobard is pure Barry: one part love, one part eternal sunniness, and one part sheer filthy lust.

Eobard hooks his fingers around Barry’s waist and pulls him in for one last kiss. “Well,” he says, giving the dusty yearbook a fond glance, “I _was_ voted most likely to succeed…”

 


End file.
